


Basic Nature

by Minxie



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: KINK: Shifter, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-09
Updated: 2011-07-09
Packaged: 2017-10-21 04:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/221152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minxie/pseuds/Minxie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Give him two more minutes in Adam's orbit and he's gonna be on his back and showing his belly, legs splayed wide like a little slut in heat.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Basic Nature

**Author's Note:**

> **Prereaders:** @thraceadams  
>  **Warnings:** public exposure and wanking, hints of D/s, shifter!fic.  
>  **Disclaimer:** This is a work of _fiction_ using names and faces associated with actual trufax people. I do not know these people in any way, shape, or form outside of what they show the public. And I'm pretty sure none of them are really big cats disguised as humans. *smirk*  
>  **AN:** Don't even ask, okay? Okay. Oh, and, plot? *sporfle* None of that nonsense in this one. Oh, oh, and, the first time they meet is when Tommy auditions for bass. So, yeah, whatever. :-P

Tommy starts backing up as soon as he gets his first whiff of Adam Lambert. Because, really, the dude's bio totally withheld the fact that he's a shifter. A big, pretty _dominant_ shifter. If Tommy had known that fucking fact he'd have never shown up for the audition.

"Stop," Adam hisses, fucking _hisses_ like the big damn cat he really is.

The hairs on the back of Tommy's neck stand straight up and his feet freeze in place, his tail twitching beneath his skin. Goddammit.

Seriously, how in the fuck has he kept his shifter status on the down low?

Adam pushes away from the table and stalks – _stalks_ – to Tommy's side, circling him and breathing in deep, flooding the area with pheromones that are really pushing the limits of Tommy's control. Give him two more minutes in Adam's orbit and he's gonna be on his back and showing his belly, legs splayed wide like a little slut in heat.

Then Adam leans in and licks the back of Tommy's neck, draws his tongue, sandpaper rough, over the sensitive skin of Tommy's nape and Tommy's human side pretty much goes dormant. Short bursts of purring fills the air as Tommy pushes back against Adam's chest, his head dropping forward and exposing more of the delicate length of his neck.

"Good boy," Adam whispers and then drags a wet stripe over bumps and knobs of Tommy's vertebra. "You're here to audition for bass?"

Tommy swallows and nods. It's about all he's capable of right now.

Adam's tongue flicks over Tommy's ear in a maddening cadence. "And you can actually play bass?"

He nods again.

A sharp tooth grazes the straining cords in Tommy's neck. "You do know that if you're in my band I'm gonna claim you, gonna hold you down every night and fuck you, keep you so full of my come that every shifter around will know that you're mine?"

A whine escapes. Tommy knows. Oh, he fucking knows. It's why he tried backing out of the room.

"Time for you to choose, pretty kitty," Adam whispers. "Leave now and maybe I won't track you down later tonight or tell me yes." Teeth scrape Tommy's neck in sharp stinging lines. "Be in my band, wear my mark."

Tommy's brain screams at him to run. That to stay here, to wear Adam's claim on his throat, will change who he is. Take away his autonomy. It's a fear that's kept him from submitting to any other shifter he's run across.

Everything else keeps him rooted in place.

"Choose," Adam says again, the rush of his words settling hot and cold on Tommy's neck, dancing across the wide paths of spit marking the route of Adam's tongue. "Choose now."

"Yes," Tommy grunts, heady anticipation and unabashed arousal thrumming through him. His eyes flutter shut and he leans further back, molding himself to Adam's chest, relaxing into the feel of _big_ and _strong_ and _protective_ at his back. "Fuck, yes."

"Yes," Adam echoes, one hand pushing beneath Tommy's shirt, scrunching the material together until it's bunched beneath his armpits, and the other popping the button, dropping the zip on Tommy's pants.

One hand dances lightly over Tommy's chest, teasing until his nipples are tight and straining. Then Adam pinches, closes his thumb and forefinger around Tommy's nipple – the left and then the right and back to the left – overloading Tommy's senses with pain and heat and, fuck me, more.

He's ready to blow, come completely untouched, coating the navy cotton of his underwear with sticky, hot come. He's panting, fast and harsh, like he's run until his haunches tremble with fatigue, and his dick is jerking, wet at the tip, soaking a patch of precome into his shorts, and his hips are rolling, fucking himself against air and open space.

"Please," he moans, mind blown to everything except the scent and feel of Adam. "I need..."

"I know exactly what you need," Adam promises – _threatens_ – low and seductive in Tommy's ear.

And then cool air hits his dick, a startling contrast to the heat at his back, and it hurts, deep in his balls, until Adam's hand circles the length and his fingers close, the dry pull as he jacks Tommy's dick rough and burning and so goddamn perfect Tommy mewls and purrs and arches against Adam, scenting him, cat to cat, shifter to shifter, sub to his Dominant.

Adam murmurs praises – _good boy_ and _that's it, pretty_ and _knew you were mine_ – and then, palm rolling over the head of Tommy's cock, he bites, sinks his teeth into the pale flesh of Tommy's neck, pulling and sucking until the skin gives way and blood trails from the wounds.

Tommy's mouth opens with a silent scream, his body bowing away from – _into_ – the blinding pain of Adam's teeth, and he comes, shuddering and purring and going lax, depending on Adam to hold him up, to see him through the moment.

"Perfect," Adam whispers. "You're absolutely perfect."

Then the moment is broken when Monte Pittman, a guitarist Tommy knows by sight, coughs, reminds the room of his presence. When all eyes are on him, he drawls, "Adam Lambert meet Tommy Joe Ratliff, apparently your new bassist. Hope you can play, kid."

* * *


End file.
